


Under the Table

by dreamofhorses



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Revenge Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 05:35:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13943904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamofhorses/pseuds/dreamofhorses
Summary: AKA The Dru Hammer Revenge Blowjob.Inspired by Timmy's recent presentation at the Texas Film Awards and his interaction with Armie's mother, given what we know of her disapproval of the film's themes. Armie and Timmy decide to celebrate the awards their own way.Thank you to my Slack crew! Each and every one of you is an inspiration!





	Under the Table

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anttoxicated](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anttoxicated/gifts), [lookingforatardis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookingforatardis/gifts).



“Let’s just--let’s watch the clips.”

Timmy steps aside and the lights go down, and Armie’s eyes follow him to the side of the stage. This is why Armie had asked him here. The bumbling, affectionate speech. The untrimmed hair. The watch Armie had loaned him that dangled loosely on Timmy’s wrist, but when Armie tried to tighten it Timmy insisted  _ it feels like your hand around my wrist, leave it, please, please _ . All night Armie had turned to his left and seen his mother, Liz, Liz’s dad: brittle, aimless, insincere. They didn’t even like each other; they just hated each other less than anyone else in the room, and so they were stuck together. And then he could turn to his right and see Timmy, who was somehow always breaking into a smile at the exact moment Armie caught his eye. Armie couldn’t even tell anymore if Timmy’s warmth was physical, if he really was some hummingbird trapped in a human body with a heart beating two hundred times a minute, or if it was their emotional connection, the jolt in Armie’s stomach whenever they locked eyes, even now, even two years later, even stuck at a table with Liz and his family. That’s why he’d asked Timmy there.

Well, that, and how goddamn hot Timmy looks. During the clip montage Armie stares openly. The lights are down, so no one sees. Timmy smooths his hair behind his ears, fidgets with the  band of Armie's watch, chews on his lower lip; all Armie sees are his own hands fisted into Timmy’s hair, the leather straps Timmy trusts Armie to buckle around his wrists, the times Armie bites and licks Timmy’s lips himself on the mattress in Timmy’s tiny apartment while rain pounds outside and the only things Timmy says for hours are “more” and “again”. When the lights come up and Armie strides onstage to receive the award, Timmy reaches out as if to shake hands, maybe a casual bro-hug. This was what they’d agreed on. Less suspicion. But Timmy’s open and guileless speech and refusal to classify their relationship had pretty much shot that to hell anyway. Armie grabs Timmy in a full-body hug, and Timmy rests his curls briefly on Armie’s shoulder. There’s just time to whisper, “Fuck me, Oliver,” in Timmy’s ear, their code, always has been and always will be, and Armie’s stern side relishes seeing Timmy fight not to blush at those words.

Armie takes the stage, leads off with Timmy in his speech, of course. Makes it sound platonic, respectful, professional. Armie knows how to hide things, smooth the edges, win over a room. Until he met Timmy it was all he’d known how to do. The only difference now was there was a warm center to protect, that pulsing thing between Timmy and himself, and hiding  _ something _ made all the difference when you were used to hiding the  _ nothingness _ that you felt inside. Armie mentions Liz, his mother; they’re in the audience, he has to or Liz will argue, keep him up late, and he’d rather have her wine-drunk and passed out early so he can sneak to Timmy’s room with the ropes he’s hidden in the bottom of his suitcase.

When they take their seats again Timmy is so wound up he’s almost humming with energy. The next speech begins and Timmy’s bouncing his leg up and down, hands cupping and releasing a conveniently sized glass of water, and Armie can’t help thinking about how he’s gonna help burn off all that energy later, and right as that thought darkens Armie’s eyes with lust Timmy looks straight at him and catches the look on his face.

Timmy’s never able to resist this look from Armie. It’s one of the only things Armie ever has to hide from Timmy, simply because every place where Armie wants to eye-fuck Timmy doesn’t happen to be a good place to  _ actually _ fuck Timmy. But this time Timmy turned too fast, caught his eye at just the right moment, and there’s just a tiny crack in the snow now but it will be an avalanche soon and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it. For once, even though they’re in public, even though on his other side Liz and his mom are prattling pointlessly, maybe  _ because _ of these things, Armie doesn’t look away. Timmy calms a bit once they hold their gaze for a few seconds, and then something shifts in his eyes. It’s not unhappiness, not stress; Armie knows these things in Timmy’s remarkably open face and it’s none of them. But what--

For a second he thinks the jolt he gets from eye contact with Timmy is just unusually strong. Or unusually  _ low _ . But when Timmy breaks away first, which never happens, Armie realizes that Timmy’s restless left hand has come to rest on his thigh, and also doesn’t seem to be nearly so restless anymore. Timmy settles back in his chair, seemingly focused on the stage, and draws his hand slowly up Armie’s thigh, spreading his long fingers apart and raking his nails across Armie’s smooth suit pants. With his right hand Timmy reaches up to his neck. To everyone else in the room it looks like a scratch, an adjustment of an uncomfortable shirt collar. Armie’s the only one in the room whose mind blooms with the memory of his own hands around Timmy’s neck, the night before his magazine cover party, when Armie tried to pull back, saying  _ it’ll leave a mark, they’ll see _ and Timmy gasping  _ I know, that’s what I want, please. _

Armie is staring. How long has he been staring at Timmy, watching him touch his neck, feeling Timmy’s other hand slowly find the head of his cock through his pants? He turns to Liz, to his mother, to flash them a shallow grin and make a joke. That’s all he needs to do to placate them; that’s all he’s ever needed to do. He makes eye contact with his mother, prays it doesn’t kill his erection, and catches Liz’s eye. She smiles and tips her glass towards him in an empty goodwill gesture and Armie realizes this is just making him  _ harder _ . Timmy’s hand is almost all the way around his erect cock through his pants and Armie sends thanks for the thousandth time that Timmy’s fingers are so long. Armie composes his face into its usual mask of composed presence and slides his own hand into Timmy’s lap. Timmy’s already hard and at Armie’s touch he bites his lip and flutters his eyelids. Sometimes Armie forgets just how impossible public sex acts are with someone as guileless as Timmy. If Liz looks over at him right now she’ll clock what’s going on instantly. Armie strokes Timmy a couple of times to show he’s serious, and Timmy tightens his grip on Armie and massages the head of his cock with his thumb. Armie swears he hears Timmy  _ moan _ and knows he has to get Timmy away from the public and  _ quickly _ .

He catches Timmy’s eye and inclines his head toward the door, where the remains of the red carpet they came in on are still visible. Armie stands, making a show with his napkin in his lap to hide his erection, and catches both his mother’s and Liz’s eyes on his way out to test his theory. When his cock swells more in his pants he knows he was right. He guides Timmy behind the backdrop of the red carpet. Everyone’s indoors but Armie can still see through the open door to the table that they’ve vacated. Timmy unzips Armie’s pants and kneels in front of him, and the warm night air is the same temperature as Timmy’s soft mouth on Armie’s waiting cock. Armie twists his hands into Timmy’s hair, leans back, and starts to close his eyes. As Timmy grows more insistent, taking more and more of Armie into his mouth and drawing his tongue up the underside of Armie’s cock, Armie opens his eyes and stares into the room he’s just left. His mother is clapping at something (even she couldn’t tell you what, he’s sure), and Liz turns toward the door, almost far enough to see them if they weren’t in the shade of the backdrop. Yet Timmy’s here with him, no questions asked, no words needed for them to end up in the same place. At the thought, Armie grips Timmy’s head tighter, thrusts harder, and his orgasm releases any stress from the night and then some.  _ You’re worth the whole damn bunch put together _ flashes through Armie’s mind and he sinks to his knees beside Timmy, kisses him, reaches for Timmy’s hard cock and marvels at the gasp he can still bring forth from Timmy just by touching him. He unzips Timmy’s pants and Timmy’s cock springs willingly into his hand. Timmy’s so close already and when Armie brings him to the brink he bends to take Timmy’s long, slender cock in his mouth, sucking him dry, feeling Timmy shudder against him until he’s spent.

When they compose themselves to go back inside, Armie leaves one side of his shirt slightly untucked, just for Timmy, a sign for anyone who knows where to look, except they will always be the only ones who know where to look. And when they sit back down at the table, Armie flashes his mother the biggest smile she’s ever seen.


End file.
